


The Problem with Reincarnation...

by Victopteryx



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victopteryx/pseuds/Victopteryx
Summary: ...is that it's generally agreed to be absolute bullshit. 
Mercer is alive. No one is happy about this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 3 in the morning. Please forgive me.

The first thing Mercer realized was that he was fucking _wet_. No, wet wasn’t the right word—he was drenched. Soaked.  Mud and gravel caked his hair and his face, and as he moved to push himself out of the muck, water ran in rivulets out of the cracks and crags of his leather armor. His _ruined_ leather armor. Blood and arrow holes littered the hide cuirass, and he was outright missing the bandolier of tools and his left glove.

He was in a cave. Dwemer pipes hissed as they snaked around a bend in front of him. Behind him there was a hole, filled to the brim with black, murky water.

What in the _blazes_ happened? Mercer squinted at the muddy gravel floor. The entire area looked unsettled, the rocks all sharp edges and looks piles of shale, as if the tunnel were newly made.

A slight trough ran from where Mercer was kneeling to the edge of the water. As if someone had been dragged out of it.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Mercer was not an idiot. Someone had clearly saved his life. Everyone knew he couldn’t swim for shit. 

_—the drop on me, Karliah—_

Karliah. She’d been here. Why did she just leave him lying there?

He staggered to his feet, one hand dragging along the rough stone wall.

As Mercer exited the cave, a blast of icy wind hit him square in the face. Skyrim was fucking _freezing_. Why was he this far north? Squinting in the sudden brightness, Mercer took stock of his surroundings. He knew this lake—there was an inn nearby. He could regroup, figure out how to get back to Riften. Figure out who got him into this mess and gut them. Find Karliah.

As Mercer made slow, limping progress along the rocky lakeside, an Argonian watched placidly from the shadows of the far shore, fingers dancing along the edge of an arrowhead.

She could kill him now. He had tried to kill her. It would be _just_.

The arrow slid along the shaft of the bow and Reisah considered her options. She freely admitted to herself that she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d dragged him, bleeding and broken, from the watery pit. She’d wanted to prove something.

Mercer Frey had found a road, snaking up the snow-covered hill. At the top of the hill stood the Nightgate Inn, and in the cellar of that in lay the dead body of the Gourmet. Mercer would undoubtedly stumble across his remains… if he made it that far. 

Reisah and death were old friends. A hundred dragon souls swirled in her belly. A hundred times ten of lesser things had died at her hands.

She could make the shot from across the water. It wasn’t even 20 yards. Mercer was wounded, weak. Her first arrow would go straight through his shoulder. Her second, aimed from three feet above his chest as he bled onto the brilliant white snow, would crush his heart.

What would his death gain her now?

What did his life give her, as she dragged him into the freezing air of Bronze Water Cave?

She was _curious_.

The arrow slipped back into the quiver at her side.

She had made deals with Daedra in the past. So many beings had staked a “claim” on Reisah’s “soul” that at this point she wasn’t even sure if she _could_ die.

But those deals had been made with a purpose. A point. A reward. A cause and effect in which _she_ chose the effect and _she_ drew the terms and _she_ spilled the blood to seal it in place.

Karliah had taken _such_ liberties in Nightingale Hall.

Nocturnal was enigmatic. She had to be. It was the essence of her being. Reisah had no issue with obfuscation—but only should it serve a purpose. Nocturnal’s games were meaningless. Her smoke and mirrors obscured nothing, existing only for the sake of _being mysterious._

Reisah was under no delusions—Mercer’s death fit Nocturnal’s agenda like it had been planned from the beginning. Reisah had seen the new statue the Guild had erected in the Cistern. She had seen the banners, the incense, the gold that was the subject of and currency of every prayer.

Nocturnal had _used_ her. Used her to amass followers, to establish her name in a dissident world, to quell the nonbeliever in her midst—

Reisah made up her mind just as Mercer’s muddy green eyes landed on the Nightgate Inn. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mercer woke up to the stench of sewage and the sound of running water. A heavy sack was tied over his head.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Language,” came a voice. A familiar voice, a wet rasp that sent shivers down his spine. “Welcome home, Mercer Frey.”

“Who in _Oblivion—_ ”

 The sack was torn away from his face. The smell of sewage hit him like a brick.

An Argonian stared at Mercer with flat, unblinking eyes. In her left hand she held a torch. The flickering shadows made it impossible to see the rest of the room.

Mercer abruptly discovered that he’d been tied to a chair. He immediately began to fiddle with the knots binding his hands.

“The question stands,” he sneered. “Who in Oblivion are _you_?”

“Well,” said the Argonian. Rows of sharp white teeth flashed in her maw as she spoke. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s lost their memory. Looks like someone’s going to need _help_.”

Mercer really hated lizards.

The Argonian’s right hand went to her neck, pulling a glittering medallion out of the dark leather cuirass. “Do you recognize this, Mercer Frey? How many memories have you really lost?”

Mercer had an eye for jewelry. The medallion was a metal ring, pierced through by three diamond-shaped spokes. He had never seen it before in his life. He said as much. The Argonian laughed.

“It’s yours,” she said, flat eyes boring into him.

“Well, if you insist.” Mercer replied flatly. She slapped him, claws just barely scraping his skin.

“You will cooperate, Mercer Frey. I know you.” The Argonian straightened, tucking the amulet back into her armor. “You may not remember much, but you will remember the rest soon. Karliah is coming, and we will need to move.”

_Karliah_?

“How do _you_ know who Karliah is?” Mercer snarled.

“So you remember _her_? Oh, that is interesting.” The Argonian began to walk away. As she moved, the torchlight glinted off the slick walls, caked in filth. “I wish we had time for a reunion. Maybe later, hmm?” She had reached a door. Her hand upon the handle, the Argonian turned back to Mercer, mouth stretched wide in a razor-sharp smile. “I will return. Don’t go anywhere.”

She let the torch fall to the floor, its flame immediately extinguished by the stagnant water. The door slammed shut.

Mercer began to wish he’d just stayed in the cave. The knots weren’t coming undone any time soon.  He vainly tried to think of something he could do to wriggle free—his arms were bound behind the back of the chair, over the ropes around his torso, and his feet were lashed to the legs of the chair. He had to give the Argonian credit—she had been thorough.

An hour passed. Mercer had almost begun to think the Argonian had abandoned him there when he heard the door swing open.

“This is the one?” He heard a voice say.

“Be careful,” said the Argonian. “It _bites_.”

They brought no torches and no candles, but the footsteps—two pairs—came directly to where Mercer sat.

“I’m not sure what you think you’re going to get out of this—” Mercer began.

The Argonian interrupted him with a rasping laugh, and fisted a claw in his hair. He could feel her breath against his face as she hissed, “ _Freedom_.” She shoved him back and turned sharply to her companion. “Send him. Now. Karliah draws near.”

Mercer opened his mouth and drew breath to shout—

That had been a mistake. A brilliant flash of light illuminated the room. Mercer caught a glimpse of a Khajiit, festooned in glittering jewels and rich silks, before a force hit him like a ram, knocking all the breath from his lungs. The world shattered before his eyes, each piece fragmenting and melting and reshaping itself anew.

Mercer felt like he was going to be sick. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to end. He also added magic to the list of things he hated.

The world reassembled itself, reality melting back into place like wax filling a mold. Mercer noted that the chair had been sent with him. What luck.

The world was an old cabin. Frigid wind whistled through wide gaps in the walls. Broken furniture  lay in heaps in the corners of the room, as if hastily shoved aside.

Before Mercer stood a man in dark, ragged green robes. What little light emitted from the fireplace glanced of the flat, twisting planes of his mask.

“Ah, so you’re the one.” It was a deep voice that reverberated around the room. Mercer immediately disliked him. “The one who somehow foiled a Daedra’s plot. Welcome to the party.”


End file.
